The Man on the Hill
by LionessInTheSmoke
Summary: Omegaverse AU with BAMF Alpha!Mycroft. Did Mycroft order Dr Watson shot? Of course not, he owes it to him to do it himself. Even if that means going to Afghanistan (which he'd really rather not). Still, the meaningless sex is a nice plus. Rated for (unrealistic m/m) sex.


**AN : This is (one version of) the Omegaverse and therefore AU. If you don't know what that is, find out **_**before**_** you read this. There is no (direct) problem with consent this time, but serious implied moral dubiousness (on the part of just about everyone). It is the second part of something that was not going to be a series, but it should make sense on its own.  
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**This is rated M for the crude language and (unrealistic m/m) sex. Know you limits and stay away if you are going to squick (although the smut is all in part 2 so you could just not read that). Possibly rated for the unrealistic violence too, but I hope not. Mycroft is hardly a butcher (OMG, except when he is Mr Briss, I'd nearly forgotten that!).  
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**Unusually for me, there is a soundtrack to this fic, "Man for All Seasons" by Robbie Williams. Someone made a Mycroft film with this track on youtube. I love his eyebrows.**

**I do not own any of this except the story and make no money from it. I apologize whole-heartedly for what I have done to all those who do in some way "own" these characters. Particularly Mark in this case. I would wash his eyebrows with my feet... Or something like that.  
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* * *

**Taking Care of Business**

Mycroft hated travelling. He hated the inconvenience of leaving his usual, carefully controlled surroundings where everything was set up _exactly_ to his specifications and according to his timetable. If it wasn't for the necessity of dealing with Sherlock's various _issues_, he would rarely leave SW1, let alone the Greater London Area. It was such an inefficient use of his time.

Travelling in Britain was bad enough and he did it as rarely as possible unless he was being chauffeured. The full, dirty trains that were rarely on time (first class was not any faster than second and only slightly quieter). The provincial airports, full of stressed people and their heaps of baggage. The roads full of other cars and potholes. Just generally, _the other people_ who insisted on moving about the country, getting in his way when he was on business that was at least ten times more important than theirs. Eventually, he would have to do something about all of that, but he was a busy man, he could not make it a priority and the Chancellor was not listening to his advice (delivered via third parties, obviously) about investing in infrastructure in a crisis as a method of job creation. Odious little man, Mycroft hadn't liked him at university either. He was on the way out of that office at least at the next general election. Thank goodness.

Actually having to _leave the country _was only made bearable by chartered flights, diplomatic passes and embassies. Just barely bearable.

Mycroft was going to Kabul. As briefly as humanly possible.

He could think of few places that he wanted to visit less. Especially right now. However, he had gone to the trouble of making sure that _certain situations_ had been allowed to escalate until they got to the point where they seemed to require his personal (soothing, pacifying) touch "on the ground". Few situations were ever allowed to reach this point precisely because Mycroft hated travelling enough that he kept a very sharp eye out and trained his people exceptionally well. It had been complicated, keeping things hidden from his people long enough (but not so long that anything dangerous happened, the line was _very_ fine). He was not completely sure he had succeeded with his assistant. He almost hoped not, she was special after all. He had left her to mind the shop in London, thusly keeping her _far_ away from his extra curricular activities here.

Mycroft had needed a cover story to justify making this trip, and although he had several items of business to take care of, the motives that drove him to leave his comfort zone were personal.

Mycroft was here to see about an alpha. Not for himself, he had never bent that way. For his little brother, who had deep-rooted problems with his biological imperatives and needed a push in the right direction, for everyone's sake. Not a random hook-up, but a lifelong bond. Mycroft was sure it had to be this particular alpha, he had profiled and rejected many possible candidates before making the decision. So he was resigned to the travelling.

What he was not resigned to was the heat, the dust, the stickiness and the fact that he could hear a song in his head that he had not heard since Mummy had sung it to Sherlock whilst bouncing him on her knee. And he was quite sure the words that were being sung in her voice now, were not the ones she had actually sung.

A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go

We'll catch the alpha, cause a bit of drama

And then we'll let him go...

_Trauma_, he corrected himself. _You will not trivialize this. You are about to cause this man a great deal of trauma so that he and Sherlock can put each other back together again. You are going to force him to re-evaluate his entire existence. There is a risk of suicide. This risk will be higher than usual for former military. He will certainly be subject to depression and nightmares. Possibly alcoholism, with his family history. If you do not get the shot just right, you might kill him, or seriously impair him. This is not a trivial matter_.

Which of course, was one reason why Mycroft had to see to it himself. Captain J. H. Watson was one of Mycroft's people, whether he knew it or not. (He didn't but that did not make it any less true because Mycroft _knew._) As such, Mycroft had responsibilities towards him. With his position, came the obligation to ensure that the resources at his command were used according to best effect. In this case, that required the captain to be in London, fixing Mycroft's brother, so that he too could fulfill his best purpose. That was certainly not living the life of a junkie. If he wanted to solve murders, so be it, but Mycroft had not completely given up on Sherlock one day joining him in Whitehall. He would settle for him being sober for the moment. Ideally, he wanted him healthy, happy and at peace with his biology finally.

Mycroft looked like an (unusually tall) Afghan when he arrived at the hill. His little brother was not the only one who could play dress-up. He unpacked his carefully hidden equipment from his camel. His _camel_, for goodness sake! The things he did for Sherlock...

He set up his gun at the position that he had determined was most advantageous. It smelt of oil. It was not the model he would choose to make these shots. He would have chosen something more modern with as many accuracy aids as possible. (It was imperative that this was done _right_! There were no second chances.) However, Mycroft was, perhaps more than anything else, a master storyteller. This gun fit the story he wanted the evidence to tell. He rested it on the tripod and lay down in the dirt and scrubby grass. Mycroft hated dirt. Had _always_ hated being dirty.

His brother would die laughing if he saw him like this, he reflected as he waited. Well, no he wouldn't actually, because if Sherlock even so much as suspected anything about this, Mycroft did not think he would need the big red button to start World War III. He could imagine his brother, eyes aflame;

"What do you mean you _shot_ John?! _You_ shot my bonded!" Completely forgetting the fact that at this point he didn't even know who J. H. Watson was and would likely never find out _unless_ Mycroft took this shot. Ungrateful brat.

His equipment was set up. He looked through his binoculars and waited for the patrol. He had picked this particular patrol to hit because it was a joint patrol, british troops and the Afghanis they were training to replace them when they pulled out, in an area considered to be relatively safe.

There were two men he had to shoot today. One, he intended to kill. He had undergone a process of radicalization and was waiting for a chance to cause death and destruction to his "allies" at their base. Mycroft felt absolutely no conflict about this, the man had made his choice. It was not a good idea to threaten anything Mycroft felt protective of. Mycroft felt extremely protective of the armed forces because if they were deployed somewhere and being shot at, _he_ hadn't done his job properly. The other man he had to hit just exactly right...

Mycroft was economical, he could achieve two goals at once. Three really, as this would result in less sloppy behaviour on supposedly "safe" patrols, which was all to the good.

The story he was telling with his disguise and his gun was that he was a lone insurgent, who objected to the foreign troops in his country and hated the "traitors" who worked with them. He would shoot the actual traitor first, the second man would try to help him (it was his nature and his duty) and receive his own bullet. Mycroft would then finish his load, hitting nothing that was not easily repaired or replaced and then break for it on the (goddamned) camel before the remaining troops could reach his position.

The patrol was late. This irked Mycroft because he had to get back to the embassy and clean up in time to have dinner and be seduced by one or other of the assistants to the Director for this and that, who he had been introduced to (specifically to gauge his reaction) on his arrival. Obvious spies both of them. Not an original attempt either. He would almost certainly be "comforting" on omega who had gone into "spontaneous" heat tonight. His absence before the seduction could even take place would be noted and suspicious.

It was bothersome, in that he had more important things to do with his time, but paradoxically also convenient. It had been over six months since his last coupling and his body was not opposed to the idea of release. His smell was probably becoming quite penetrative to receptive omegas. He wondered which they would send, the man in his early 20's or the woman heading for 40? He hoped for the man, he had made the less experienced impression. The woman's eyes had been very cold for an omega.

He wanted a cigarette. He wanted to get this unpleasant necessity over with. He wanted to be _rid_ of the camel, to clean up and finish smoothing the ruffled feathers he'd been working on at the embassy. He wanted to get laid. He wanted to go home. He sighed resignedly. He wanted Sherlock to be happy.

The patrol came into sight. _Finally_. They were doing a relatively good job, but not good enough to discover him. He took aim and shot his first target so that he grazed the carotid artery. It was a spectacular shot, at this distance, with this equipment. Mycroft watched the blood spurt and waited. The reaction of one of the other Afghans gave him cause for extreme concern, but because Mycroft didn't have proof of any wrong-doing, he shot him in his dominant arm and made a mental note to look into it later. He didn't have time to think about it now as his second target was rushing up to the one quickly bleeding out. Mycroft took extremely careful aim and gently squeezed the trigger. Direct hit to the shoulder. _I am so sorry it has to be this way Captain_, Mycroft thought and then emptied the rest of his load into various parts of the patrol's transport.

The gallop away from the scene was every bit as unpleasant as Mycroft had predicted it would be.

* * *

**The Pursuit of Pleasure**

Mycroft was reading from an encrypted tablet. There was no point working, he knew he was going to be interrupted soon. Usually, he preferred real books but there was no way he would risk _anyone_ knowing what he was reading. It had been a tiring day and he was passing the time with a _Mills and Boon Omega Edition_. He would never admit it to anyone, but Mycroft enjoyed the simplicity of the world portrayed. It was his guilty pleasure. The feisty omegas who always got the alpha they wanted, even if they had to take the long route and put the alpha in their proper place first. It was so simple when it was always the omega's choice in the end, no family or societal influence, no pushy alphas, no bad choices dictated by biology acting out at the wrong moment. No guilt or self-loathing. Mycroft had mounted a fair number of omegas, but he didn't think any of them had chosen him purely for himself. It was one reason he had no problem resisting the urge to bite.

Shortly after ten, there was a quiet, rapid knocking on his door. Loud enough to be noticed, but not loud enough to draw attention in the nighttime quiet of the embassy. Right on time, and completely predictable. Mycroft put aside the tablet, picked up his hand gun and stood from the armchair, tightening the sash of his dressing gown as he crossed the room. He turned the key and opened the door slightly. Cautiously. After all, although he was in one of the most heavily guarded embassies in Afghanistan, even he made mistakes sometimes. Not this time it seemed. As he expected, he was hit by the smell of an omega deep in heat and looking at a pair of wide, apparently panicked, brown eyes.

"Good grief! Percy, wasn't it? What are you thinking, wandering about smelling like that? Are you quite alright?" He asked, acting his part in the farce that was apparently going to play out. His cock was definitely interested in the proceedings, regardless of how fake they were. It was stirring at the enticing smell wafting through the cracked door.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Mr Holmes. Sir, may I come in? I know it's not clever of me to be out, but I..."

Mycroft moved aside and opened the door wider, beckoned with his empty hand and let the young man enter his room, checking for signs of weapons as he passed. There were none. The omega was wearing a grey t-shirt and (bizarrely for a seduction Mycroft thought) red jogging trousers with yellow stripes. The trousers were tented, but not wet, so he hadn't been wearing them for long. His feet were bare.

Mycroft locked the door, slipping the gun discreetly into the pocket of the overcoat hung on its back as he did so, and crossed over to the sideboard, where he had a brandy in a sniffer glass prepared. He held it directly under his nose to block out some of the omega's smell with the alcohol fumes.

"Now Percy, what on Earth has happened to you? You smell upset." He asked in a convincingly concerned sounding tone. "Do you think you could have been drugged?"

Percy was hugging himself nervously and rocking from foot to foot. Either he was a very good actor, or he had misjudged the strength of reaction that was going to be brought on by the heat inducers. He was leaning subconsciously in Mycroft's direction and had his eyes submissively lowered.

"I don't know!" He said rather piteously and without a trace of a discernible lie. "I'm not due for another two weeks! It just came on so suddenly. I was trying to ride it out on my own because the alpha I usually see is unavailable. But it is so strong! And I smelt you this morning at the reception Sir, and then at dinner, and it was _so good_. It might even be what brought this on. And I couldn't stop thinking about... um... it." Percy was blushing a furious red. "I'm sorry to burst in on you Sir, but I think I need help and you smell like what I need to make it stop."

"Don't you have an aid you can use?" Mycroft suggested, pretending reluctance and knowing full well the answer.

"I tried Sir, when it first started, but it is too strong for an aid without alpha pheromones this time. I am _so wet_, I feel like I'm leaking and it is scaring me. I... need a real knot, Sir."

_Not acting_, Mycroft decided. The omega was genuinely unprepared for his reaction to the drug.

"And how will your relationship with your _unavailable_ alpha be affected by you seeking release with another? Will they not object to you spreading yourself for another's knot?"

"We aren't exclusive Sir. He has other omegas anyway."

That even had the sound of real bitterness to it.

"Percy," Mycroft said kindly, having made his decision now about how this was going to play out. _For one night only, Mycroft Holmes in the role of sympathetic, older alpha!_ He knew the role well. He replaced the glass on the sideboard and took a deep and obvious inhale. "You should not allow yourself to be treated in that manner." He let his gaze burn over the omega and watched him shudder. "Allow me to introduce you to the benefits of congress with a mature and experienced alpha."

"Oh please, yes."

Mycroft released the shivering omega from his gaze and reached into the pocket of the suit jacket hung over the back of the armchair he'd been reading in. He pulled out a pillbox and then returned to the sideboard to pour a glass of water from the bottle there. He took the glass and the pillbox and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Come here Percy." He invited in a voice pitched intentionally low and the omega obediently came to him without a hint of hesitation, a shy smile on his flushed face. _My pheromones must be stronger than I realised_, Mycroft thought, _clearly this is overdue_. Mycroft opened the box and took out two pills, which he gave to Percy along with the water. "An alpha should want to take care of you, regardless of what time of your cycle it is. There are studies that show that an exclusive relationship, even unbonded, leads to more regular cycles, amongst other health benefits for both parties. Take the pills Percy." The omega obeyed easily, but choked a bit on the water in his eagerness.

Mycroft stood and moved directly into the young man's space. "An alpha should know that you have more than just sexual needs, and be grateful that you chose to meet _all_ of them with him." He stroked his hands lightly down the omega's bare arms, feeling the fine hairs rise in response. He lifted the hands to his nose and sniffed. The omega had not been lying, his hands smelt of his own lubrication from his masturbation attempts. He kissed the fingertips, then gave them a gentle lick. "Your alpha does not seem to be able to meet even your sexual needs. He is absent from your day to day life and hasn't come when you need him either. I know coming to me has made you embarrassed and uncomfortable, but I am more than capable of providing what you need." He lifted the grey t-shirt gently by the hem and pulled it up over the head of reddish-brown curls. He let his hands run down the omega's back and pulled him gently against his chest. The omega was more than willing and burrowed his nose into Mycroft's neck, breathing deeply. Mycroft, reciprocated by sniffing at the curls as he ran one hand through them.

"Your smell tells me that you are unattached, fertile and healthy, but that you are distressed in your heat. Heat should not be distressing, it can be deeply pleasurable and satisfying for both parties. I will help you Percy, you can relax. Just breathe and it will become easier, let my scent sooth you." With one hand, he continued massaging the curly head, while the other held the omega firmly but comfortingly against him. Mycroft pressed light kisses to the omega's hair and face and neck. "Let's see how much preparation you need before you can take me." He dropped down to his knees and took the omega's jogging trousers down with him. He noted the lack of underwear and took a deep inhale at Percy's groin, stroking his hands up his thin, wet thighs. They quivered as he took the erect mini-penis into his mouth and sucked. He slipped a hand between the round buttocks and probed the slick hole there gently. Mycroft held the would-be spy up as he came hard and cried out in surprise. Mycroft let him slide out of his mouth and swallowed the cum.

"How long have you been struggling on your own? You are soaking wet and wide open."

"Two hours I think, maybe longer. It feels like so much longer. I am ready to be knotted Sir, please I _need_ it."

"You don't have to beg me to knot you Percy, it is my _pleasure_ to help you. Make yourself comfortable on the bed." Mycroft stood and removed his dressing gown, throwing a foil packet from the pocket onto the nightstand, before throwing the gown onto the chair. He turned back to the bed and took in the expanse of Percy's pale, freckled skin as he unbuttoned his pyjama shirt.

The omega was watching him and his nostrils flared as he breathed quickly, then whimpered and pressed his thighs together tightly. _Another gush of lubrication,_ Mycroft theorized.

"I am right here" He reassured the suffering omega as he untied his pyjama trousers and let them drop. The omega's mouth opened and he keened as his gaze fixed on Mycroft's erection. "It is all yours tonight, as long and as hard as you need it. Put the condom on me and then you can have my cock up that fine arse of yours, right where I know you want it."

The omega flew to his knees and tore open the foil packet, but he was shy and hesitant when he touched Mycroft to roll the condom down his thick length.

"I assure you, you won't break it." Mycroft snorted lightly and knelt on the bed. He pulled the omega to his chest again and kissed his face and hair gently, avoiding the mouth that seemed to be seeking his. He rubbed his cock against Percy's and slipped a long, thick finger into his lover's anus.

"Oh yes!" Percy whimpered.

Mycroft probed gently, until he found the round bulb of tissue and stroked over it carefully. Percy shuddered against him and panted. Mycroft massaged slowly around the area and Percy came over their stomaches.

"How do you want to be taken? Tell me how your body needs me to knot you." He whispered in the omega's ear

"It feels so intense, and I am still a bit scared by it. Can you hold me while you fuck me?" The omega's face was flame red, eyes lowered and his voice was barely a whisper._ Shy, first time initiating intimacy, raised with high moral principles, not used to casual use of profanities or casual sex, _Mycroft deduced automatically

"Of course." Mycroft kept his voice soft and began maneuvering them into a spooning position, heads resting comfortably on pillows. "You've had a trying time." He said stroking up and down Percy's front, scratching his nipples before cupping and rolling his balls. "Wanting skin contact is understandable. I will take care of you." He pressed kisses to the freckled back and neck of his lover. "You are safe and appreciated. It's just us. Are you ready for my cock now? I will knot you good and deep. Help get rid of your cravings and let you relax."

"Yesss" Percy sighed.

Mycroft lifted a thin thigh, _cyclist_, he thought vaguely, and pushed slowly into the exposed and hungry hole waiting for him.

Percy was quiet, his noises were soft as Mycroft pleasured him. Percy held the hand trapped by his head, interweaving their fingers, squeezing tightly every time he came with a small whimper or groan. He was still gushing lubricant and Mycroft's balls were slick with it as they slapped against his lover's ass. Mycroft's voice was raspy as he breathed into Percy's ear;

"You are so wet, so deliciously juicy. You think it could have been my scent that made you ripen early? That does wonders for my ego."

It was the closest to love-making that Mycroft had come in several years, and if he noticed a few tears slip down his lover's face, he didn't comment as he brushed them away. He drew orgasm after orgasm out of the omega, until he grew tight around Mycroft's rising knot.

"That's it, nearly there now. You feel so good clenching around me. Just a little more and I'll knot you."

Mycroft held him firmly against his chest and used his knot as it filled to stimulate his prostrate before pulling his hips back to thrust hard and bury himself deep, finally coming in wave after wave into the omega's wet warmth. He held his lover close, resisting the urge to bite and listened to Percy's breathing settle. He felt his own mind slow for a while.

Mycroft withdrew carefully once his knot had deflated. He could smell that the "spontaneous" heat was over and the omega was asleep, his body recovering from the stress. He opened the draw of the nightstand quietly and took out a syringe. He injected its contents into Percy's buttock and watched as his breathing became even deeper. Mycroft got up and had a shower, then he dressed neatly and packed the few items he had left out. Finally, he sat at the desk and drank the brandy while he wrote in a beige folder. The folder had "top secret" stamped on it in red. Inside was a sheet of paper labelled "Missile Plans" with a schematic blueprint of a toaster. On the back, Mycroft wrote;

"Unsuitable for honey trap operations. Intense reaction to heat inducers. Potential analyst."

He didn't mind evaluating his opponents' operatives, it meant he had some idea of who his people were up against. When he crossed the path of a past lover, or saw their psychological fingerprints on an operation, he was always at an advantage. Mycroft remembered every single encounter he had ever had, he had mounted a good number of intelligence operatives in his time. He left the folder on the nightstand with the empty syringe and a note that simply said:

"Do not allow yourself to be mounted by that disgrace of an alpha ever again." It was an order, an order to an omega who would wake up in a hormonal state, which would make him susceptible. An order to an omega who he had no right to order, but Mycroft hated to see an omega who was not being treated properly by an alpha. If someone tried that with Sherlock, he would personally skin them. Or exile them to Dundee at any rate.

He called his driver, collected his things and went to wait in the lobby. He sent a text from an untraceable number to a number that he knew to be a private mobile;

"Thank you for a very satisfying evening Boris ;-) M x"

It was only 10.30pm in London... He smiled. He was pleased, he had achieved two goals, sated his body's need for release, got one over on an "adversary" and now all he had left to do was close down an opium smuggling operation at one of the bases and expose the two sleepers (the dead one and the suspected one) and he could go home. He should be heading off by midmorning.

* * *

**Epilogue**

When he arrived back in London, amongst the texts that were waiting for him was one from a specific private mobile;

"Get your knot wet did you? Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself. Not on my ticket this time tho! Good call with the txt. Got me into some real hot water."

Mycroft felt himself go pale. Had he seen what he had wanted to see? Had he seen an inexperienced spy, a guilt-free lay, where there had actually been a young man in real need? A man scared by the experience of a "real" spontaneous heat who had _actually wanted_ to sleep with him? A man he had fucked, drugged and left with a folder that would likely confuse the hell out him.

It explained the omega's unorthodox clothing choice, lack of preparation, attempts at kissing, unstable emotions and relative sexual inexperience. Most especially it explained his need for comfort and reassurance. Had Percy been drugged without his knowledge and used as a distraction precisely because Mycroft would be expecting something of that nature? What had he been distracted from? And by whom? Mycroft groaned softly and his assistant gave him a quick, questioning look before focusing back on her Blackberry.

"I am going to need some details on Percy Weasley." He said and wondered precisely how much damage he was going to have to repair as a result of this mistake.

His assistant gave a quick nod. She could do without the guilt trips _every damned time_ he was out of her sight.

* * *

**AN : Percy is on loan from The Ministry of Magic. I think it is safe to say that **_**if**_** he was on **_**that type **_**of secondment, he failed it. The Bond in that family is definitely Bill.**

**I know nothing about Afghanistan and only as much as the news tells us about the circumstances there. I don't know how tall the average Afghani is, but I assume it is shorter than Mycroft because he is 6ft1 and most people are shorter than that.  
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End file.
